


Keeping it in the Family

by Fledhyris



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Sam Winchester, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Caring Dean Winchester, Claiming Bites, First Time, Forced Bonding, John Winchester's A+Parenting, Knotting, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Omega Dean Winchester, Pre-Stanford Era (Supernatural), Virgin Sam Winchester, slick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:26:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27994488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fledhyris/pseuds/Fledhyris
Summary: Sam is planning to leave for college, but John doesn’t want to lose his youngest son; and he doesn’t think he can cope with Dean on his own, when his heats require him to be put on lockdown, under constant watch for his own safety. There is a solution; but it might just disrupt everything that’s holding their family together in the first place.NOT related to my other canon-adjacent ABO series (Omega Verse) but the genetic ecology is similar. The other John takes the Father of the Year Award compared to this one.Written for the SPN_ABO_Challenge 2020
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 16
Kudos: 341
Collections: Supernatural Wincest And J2 ABO Fanworks Event





	1. Trapped

“You boys check the cellar, I’ll head upstairs. Meet back here in five.” 

John turned and walked towards the door, his gun held ready, confident from years of training that his sons would do exactly what he ordered without question.

Dean and Sam took up flanking positions either side of the cellar door; a solid iron affair which looked very capable of keeping in a werewolf, or any other monster they could think of. If some idiot hadn’t gone and left it too late to shut it in there in the first place...

There was no sound from the darkness below. Of course it wasn’t very likely that the monster was still down there, lurking around and ignoring its shot at freedom, but they had to check.

Dean gestured silently and at Sam’s nod, they headed down the wooden stairs; Dean in the lead, Sam using his extra height to keep a torch trained over his brother’s shoulder, sweeping the inky blackness with a tight beam.

The ray of light picked out neat rows of shelving, well stocked with cans and boxes. Strangely orderly for the monthly prison-lair of a werewolf. Maybe that wasn’t the monster they were dealing with, after all; but the moon was right…

They moved quickly between the shelves, Sam whipping the light to and fro to illuminate every possible angle of cover, and came to the back of the cellar. There was a large mattress on the floor, covered in a rough blanket; the beam of the torch picked up a fridge, and another door, this one small and wooden. Clearly a lair of some kind, but for what..?

More hand gestures, and they stationed themselves at either side of the door, Sam with his legs braced, gun in one hand and torch steady in the other. Dean reached across, turned the handle and swung the door wide in one smooth movement, bringing his gun to bear alongside Sam’s.

There was nothing inside, just a tiny cubicle with a toilet and wash basin.

“There’s nothing down here; monster’s long gone.” Dean swung around and Sam turned with him to point the torch back across the room.

The distinctive clang of metal boomed out across the cellar. The sound of an iron door swinging shut.

“Shit!” Dean leapt forward, Sam a loyal shadow at his heels, and they covered the distance back to the door in seconds. 

It was smooth and featureless on this side, no handle. Dean smacked it with his fist, then pried around the edge with his fingers.

“Keep the torch steady, would ya?” he snapped, but Sam was looking for something else, shining the beam up and down the walls on either side of the door and…

“Got it!” he exclaimed, flipping the switch he’d found, and the cellar flooded with a weak electric light. Switching off the torch, Sam joined his brother in examining the door, but it was obvious it wasn’t going to budge.

They looked at one another, coming to the same conclusion simultaneously, and started hammering on the door together and shouting.

“Dad!”

“Dad, watch out, it’s here!”

“It’s shut us in here!”

“DAD!”

An answering call sounded from the other side of the door. “Boys, it’s okay, I’m here.” Dad’s voice.

“Oh thank God,” Dean muttered, sounding choked. Then a little louder, “So can you get the door open? Is it locked? There’s no handle on this side!”

Silence met his request, and they looked at one another, puzzled and alarmed. Dean slammed his fist against the iron again.

“Dad? You okay? What’s happening out there?” He hollered.

“I’m fine Dean, calm down,” their father ordered.

“But Dad,” Sam chimed in, “the monster; you need to watch out!”

“There… there is no monster,” John called back. The door muffled his tone but he sounded odd; calm, but upset, as though working hard to hold himself together.

The brothers exchanged another look, then Dean called, “You killed it? So let us out already!”

“Son,” John called back, “I’m not… You’re not coming out.”

“What the hell..?” Dean muttered, as Sam shouted, “What do you mean..? Can’t you get the door open?” 

Then Dean threw out another query. “So what about the monster; did you - aw shit, Dad, did it get you, are you bitten?! It didn’t get us! Let us out, we can help, there’s still time; we-”

“There’s no monster,” John interrupted, sounding terribly weary even through the muffling barrier. “There wasn’t ever any monster.”

The brothers stared at one another, perplexed. No monster; then what the hell was going on?

“Then… who shut us in here? Dad?” Sam called, warily. A nasty suspicion was scratching at the back of his mind.

Confirmed, after another anxious pause, when John finally replied. “It’s for the best. You’ll see. I’m sorry, boys, but… There’s just no other way.”

Dean’s head whipped back and forth between the door and Sam and his scowl was thunderous. “Did he - did _Dad_ shut us in here?” he asked Sam, incredulous.

Sam shook his head minutely and shrugged, then called back, “No other way to do what, Dad? What’s going on, why have you trapped us in here?” 

He forced himself to stay calm with deep, steady breaths, to reason logically and keep his instinctive anger at bay. Something was very wrong and getting into one of his usual shouting matches with their father right now, with a locked iron door between them, wasn’t going to help. It certainly wouldn’t help Dean.

Dean was staring at him, bewildered, his jaw slack; not comprehending what was going on at all. Sam didn’t understand it either, but he knew Dad had done this on purpose. No monster; then it had all been a set-up, a trap. But why?

Eventually, John responded, but even through the door he sounded wrecked; not at all himself. Sam could imagine him scrubbing his hand through his beard as he spoke, battling with his own conscience.

“Can’t lose you, Sammy,” he said. “And Dean… what’m I supposed to do about Dean? His heats take time from hunting, or the pills make him sick. You can’t watch him, if you’re off at college. And on my own… something’s bound to go wrong eventually. This way; it’s for the best. It’ll work out, we’ll be together; a family.”

Their father had set this up. Shut them in here, with provisions, basic facilities… a bed. For how long? Sam thought he knew the answer, but that meant… No, it couldn’t be, that was… Surely Dad couldn’t… Did he know, somehow? Sam felt sick.

“Dad, you can’t - we can’t do this,” he called, leaning against the door with his head pressed against the cold metal. Willing him to reconsider. This would break them, ruin the closeness that was all Sam had, all he dared to hope for. How could Dean ever forgive him if he let this happen?

Their father’s silence was all the admission he needed.

“He’s my brother, for God’s sake!” Sam’s outrage surged, beating in his temples like dark wings, tinging his vision with blood. He snarled, and smote the door with a volley of fists. “You’re insane, this is sick, what kind of father are you?!” He roared, aiming a few well placed kicks at the door to reinforce his pounding. “Come on, open the door and let us out, you know this is wrong!” 

The door stood unyielding and their father didn’t react. Helplessly, Sam turned his head towards his brother, for what he didn’t know - support, comfort, assistance - but he was shocked to see Dean hunched in on himself, face pale and set, his jaws clenched in a pained grimace. 

Sam knew that face all too well, he had been seeing a lot of it lately; that was a large part of his reasoning for getting out, for applying to college. As he grew older, he butted heads with Dad more and more, two alphas under one roof just two powder kegs waiting for a match. Lately, the smallest issue seemed to ignite a confrontation which caused their pheromones to surge, their voices to ring with the battle of wills. It just whipped them into an even greater fury, both too stubborn - and too bellicose - to back down. 

But worse was the effect on Dean; on any omega in the family, such fights were brutal. Even though, logically, Dean knew that Sam and their father were fighting each other, his instincts would be screaming that every angry word, every clipped, antagonistic gesture, every acrid blast of dominating scent, was meant for him. 

He withstood it all, because he was Dean, he was strong and proud and refused to let his biology get the better of him; but Sam could tell how much it cost him and for his brother’s sake, he did his best to rein it in. Now he realised that he had done it again, he had broken his determination of just moments ago not to get riled. It wasn’t as though yelling would get Dad to open the door any faster.

Sam put his hands flat against the cool metal and held his arms straight, leaning against the door. He closed his eyes and bowed his head, forcing his breathing to slow and even out, pushing the anger away with each exhaled breath.

“Look, I’ll - I won’t go to college,” he called, his voice much calmer. Still loud, to be heard, but no longer vibrating with the force of his temper. “I’ll stay, okay? You need my help, I can see that now. So just, just let us out and I won’t leave, I promise.”

And, now that he was arguing rationally, not being such an explosive knothead, their father responded. Briefly, Sam wondered just how bad he must be feeling, that Dad hadn’t risen to his outburst like he normally would.

“I’m sorry Sam,” John replied, “but you won’t - even if you really mean that right now, I can’t hold you to that promise a year from now, two; this needs to be a permanent solution. This is the best way. You’re already close, it just; you’ll get used to it. Things will work out. It’ll be easier, on all of us.”

Dean was trying to catch Sam’s attention now, making exaggerated faces and shrugging his shoulders, gesturing wildly. Asking silently, ‘What’s going on, is Dad crazy?’

Sam looked back at him, feeling the weight of his terrible certainty pressing down on him, choking up his throat. He couldn’t tell Dean what he thought, couldn’t give voice to such awful suspicions; was hoping, even now, that it would all turn out to be a misunderstanding. Maybe this was some kind of training exercise, and Dad expected them to escape… But he couldn’t keep fooling himself, not with Dad’s words just now. Permanent solution. Already close. Jesus.

Sam felt the anger boiling up again like bile, wanting to spit his fury and condemnation at the door, but for Dean’s sake; and because he knew it wouldn’t do any good; he swallowed it down. He swung away from the door abruptly, stamping over to the adjoining wall where he slammed back against the whitewashed concrete and lounged, hands shoved into his pockets, simmering but quiet. Far enough from Dean not to overwhelm him with the stink of his rage.

Dean frowned, staring hard at Sam, then looked back at the door. Made as though to beat on it with his fists, but just rested his clenched hands against the surface.

“Dad,” he tried, “what are you - you think you can keep Sam locked up down here until he gives in, or - or what?” That had to be the point, and their father would know that he’d have to lock up both sons to keep one; neither would ever stand by while the other was in distress. 

He continued, “You know how stubborn he is, how the hell is this gonna persuade him? Look, I don’t want Sam to leave either, but we can’t - this isn’t the solution! How long you thinking to keep us trapped down here?” 

“You’ll be fine, Dean,” Dad replied, hoarsely. “I’ve left… I made sure there are plenty of provisions. There’s a camping stove; the toilet; place is air conditioned. It won’t… You won’t be down here very long.”

Dean glanced around the room, at the well stocked shelves. Man, he really had prepared all this, lured them down here with his fake report of a captive werewolf on the loose... But for what? Didn’t make sense that he could think any of this would change Sam’s mind about college; he was with Dad on that one, whatever Sam agreed to now wasn’t going to last very long once they were out of here. In fact after this stunt, he’d be surprised if they saw Sam for dust, the moment that door opened to release them. So what was he keeping them here for, what did he expect to happen? 

One thing Dean knew was going to happen, and within only a handful of days… He patted himself down, his anxiety suddenly ratcheting up as all his pockets turned up empty. Sam was looking at him with a weird expression, knowing and guilty and so sad, like he knew what was going on and it was all his fault; but this was all on Dad, not his little brother. What the hell did Dad think he was playing at?

“Dad,” Dean called, turning back to the door, “I hope you remembered to stock my supps, cause I’m due in a few days and I’m not carrying…”

“No Dean,” John answered heavily. “No more suppressants. They make you sick, son. This will fix all that.”

“But Dad,” Dean argued, his voice rising as he started to panic, “you left supplies, how long you expecting us to stay down here? ‘Cause I can’t be around Sammy when I’m due, you know that, he’s an alpha! He can’t - I can’t…”

Dean stopped mid-sentence, feeling suddenly light headed as the puzzle slammed together in his head with a horrible, twisted logic that made complete sense of Sam’s expression. No way. He couldn’t… their own father? Could he..?

“You son of a bitch!” he yelled, viciously, making Sam jump even though the curse was directed at Dad, not him. Then he laughed. “No way. No, I don’t believe it, you wouldn’t… he’s my freaking brother! There’s… there are _laws_ against that kind of thing, how could you even..?”

“Son,” John interjected, “I’m sorry; I’m so sorry. But I’ve thought about it, believe me, and this is the only way. You’ll see, you’ll come to understand in time and you’ll… Legality has nothing to do with it, when have we ever stood aside for the law? Keeping this family safe, keeping us together; that’s all I’m interested in, all I’ve ever wanted.”

“Keeping it in the family, huh Dad?” Dean snarled. Sam was still standing off to one side, looking sick and defeated, his face drawn. “There’s a _reason_ for those laws, you know, it’s not just some stupid social etiquette!”

“I know it’s… unconventional,” their father replied, with brazen understatement. “How you’re feeling right now, it’s understandable; but you’ll come around, and… it’ll work. It will work. At least oms can’t get pregnant.”

_“That’s_ all that’s bothering you about this whole fucked up plan?” Dean shouted, and this time, he did slam his fist against the door. “This has to be some sick joke, right? Tell me it’s not true, let us out, and I’ll - we’ll make this work, we’ll find another way, we can do this… But not your way, not _Sammy!_ ”

“Would you rather be bonded to your brother, or to some stranger who doesn’t know anything about us, about this life?” John replied doggedly. “Someone who has to be kept out of the way, which means you’d be out of the way, too. No more hunting, and what about our mission; what about the thing that killed your mother? Can you walk away from that, Dean?”

‘Like your brother,’ he didn’t say, but the implication hung heavy between them. Clearly, Dad had put a lot of thought into this. He saw Sam leaving as the first slip of the avalanche, was envisioning a time some day soon when he would lose both his sons and be forced to carry on alone. And, Dean thought bitterly, it was more about his all-consuming quest than it was about them. It wasn’t as though Dad couldn’t visit either of them, if they did go their separate ways in life, but he wouldn’t; he would carry on, wrapped up in his monolithic vengeance, until he got in way over his head and something killed him for want of backup.

Dean didn’t want to abandon Dad, or hunting, but he didn’t want to lose Sam either; and he was pretty sure that was for a lot more emotional reasons than their father’s. He didn’t know what to do; he was caught between them, a rock and a hard place, like so often lately, since Sam had begun heading towards adulthood and a stubborn independence as bull headed as Dad’s. Dean was used to being the link between them, smoothing over their disputes, finding compromise; but now he felt like he was the problem instead of the solution, not a link but an anchor, weighing them both down with his stupid biological needs. There was no reasonable way out, and it sucked so badly he felt like he’d been stabbed through the chest with it, pulling in harsh, burning lungfuls of air through a gaping hole around his heart.

“There’s gotta be another way,” he pleaded, but his voice was a ragged whisper and there was no way their father could have heard it through the door. He turned to stare at Sam, silently begging forgiveness. “There’s gotta be…” his words trailed off as Sam stared back at him, long-suffering. Of course, he’d been putting up with this kind of shit for a while; it was only now that the penny had finally dropped for Dean.


	2. Determined

There was movement on the other side of the door, a shuffling noise suggestive of their father hauling himself up, away from where he had been leaning no more than the metal’s thickness apart from Dean. 

“I’ll be camped out upstairs, in the living room,” he said, quenching the sudden hope that had flared in both his sons that he might have thought better of it and be about to open the door.

“You boys will be fine down here, and you can talk it over, think things through.”

Yeah, because that wasn’t going to be the most awkward conversation they’d ever had! Dean slammed his fist against the door and wheeled away, pacing back and forth across the room like a caged tiger as he tried to think. Finally, drawing a deep breath, he turned to confront Sam, clenching his jaws to keep his emotions in check.

“Okay, first things first,” he said. “Let’s see just how escape-proof this hole really is.”

Sam’s lips twitched and he lifted one shoulder in a lopsided shrug but he moved away from the wall and joined Dean in checking the place out. Dad had been thorough, they had to admit, as they encountered nothing but solid, breeze-block walls; sound concrete floor; ceiling high and firm with no loose boards they could pry away from the joists. The ventilation grilles were too small for a cat to squeeze through, and the only tools Dad had left them were basic cutlery and a can opener. They had one decent knife between them, the hunting knife Dean had stashed in his jacket before they set out.

“I guess we could try and dig our way out with a spoon,” Dean joked, holding up the utensil and waggling it just to defuse the tension.

Sam huffed, refusing to be amused. “This isn’t the Great Escape,” he argued, “And I’m not being the Mole. It might work, if we had more time; but there’s no way we’re digging out of here before...” He trailed off with a grimace.

“Before I jump your bones like a sex-starved werewolf?" Dean grinned wryly, but the smile slipped as he searched Sam's face, not finding any answering glimmer of humour. 

"I'm sorry Sam," he said quietly, "I know this sucks. I'm only cracking jokes about it because -" He paused, wincing, then scrubbed his hands over his face and through his hair. "I'm meant to be the responsible one," he admitted in a rush, "looking out for my kid brother, and now because of me, you don't get to make any choices at all. No chance for college, for normal, for an om or girlfriend of your own choosing; maybe even kids, some day. You're gonna lose all that, just because I'm a liability; a fucked-up, wretched throwback to some stupid gene that makes me lose control every month, almost as bad as the thing we _weren't_ hunting here, and Dad depends on you to manage my sorry ass..." 

“Dean, it’s not your fault!" Sam jumped in, appalled. "It’s just your biology; you’re no more to blame for it than me and Dad, it works both ways. We’re alphas, we respond to omegas, it’s just how we’re all wired. Oms need an alpha, it’s fine when they - when you’re mated, you can…” He trailed off again, looking down at the floor.

“Yeah, and that’s the problem isn’t it, finding me an alpha," Dean interjected bitterly. "Finding me someone else we can trust to bring into this life, who won’t fuck up, who I can even halfway stomach to… You know, Dad might just have a point! I guess he’s thinking, it’s either you or a lifetime of time-outs every time my body clock hits the monthly alarm. Or I bail to be with… someone else, and with you already jonesing for college, Dad’s left all on his own."

Sam thought privately that it would be a fine solution. He’d always loved Dean, had thought far more often than was healthy of taking their physical closeness an extra step, fantasising about how it would be with them all worked up on heat pheromones. But there was no way Dean could feel the same way; his older brother, who by his own admittance felt responsible for Sam, had looked after him since he'd been a helpless, puking baby. It was totally unfair of Dad, and totally like him, to come up with a logical solution which held absolutely no account of the emotional fallout, and just expect them to fall in like good little soldiers.

“Okay,” he said, trying to keep his tone soothing. “You know what, screw Dad, and _his_ problems. Let's just think about ourselves here. It’s okay, we can do this - we can wait him out. He’ll reconsider after a while - he’ll need us on a hunt, or - or he’ll talk himself down. Just sitting there with the whiskey bottle, nothing to do except think about what he’s done; it’s bound to wear down his resolve. Meantime, when you start - we’ll just stay away from one another, opposite ends of the cellar. I’ll wrap something over my nose so I can’t smell you…” 

Dean gave him a look that was equal parts sad, disbelieving, and disgusted. Sam knew the disgust was self-directed, not for him. 

“You know that’s not gonna work Sam," he said, "you gonna tie me up too so I don’t just come after you like a bitch in heat? Gonna sit there while I’m howling and twisting myself into fits cause I can’t get any relief? S’worse than any cold turkey, Sammy. ‘N you’ll have to put a gag in my mouth, or try to turn a deaf ear to me _begging_ you…”

“Okay, enough, Dean!” Sam didn’t quite shout. “I get it. I’m not tying you up, so just forget about that. We’ll think of something else.”

“Not like Dad would have been stupid enough to leave us any rope anyway,” Dean muttered. He didn’t think wrapping Sam’s face in a shirt was going to work for long either, not down here without windows to clear the air, but he didn’t have the heart to mention it. It was a good idea. It might buy them a little time. Just in case Dad did change his mind. Which was about as likely as a heatwave in winter.

"We can't risk waiting this out," he decided. "Dad knows what he's doing, there's only one destination if we stay on that road. We need to get out of here."

"But we just established we can't do that," Sam argued wearily. "You're right, Dad does know what he's doing; he really thought this through. Gotta admire the bastard's skill in strategic planning."

“Right, no escape unless it’s by the same door we came in through,” Dean agreed, overlooking Sam's use of the pejorative, because Dad had it coming for once. He seemed to have them backed into a corner, but Dean wasn’t just going to give up, lie back and accept what was bound to happen, once his hormones took hold and got their slutty omega claws into Sam.

“So we need a different plan,” he forged on. “Something that’ll get Dad to open the door, to check on us, so we can bust our way out. What if we start a fire..? Not much wood in here,” the shelving was all modern, metal racks, “but there’s the blankets from the bed, and plenty of cardboard cartons. Rip the mattress apart for stuffing. We could pile it around the door, start shouting and kicking up a stink; he’d be bound to smell the smoke. Couldn’t risk leaving us in here with no other way out. Whaddya think, Sammy?”

“I think there’s no way Dad would believe we’d set a proper fire on purpose,” his brother replied, “so he’d probably just tell us to quit faking and put it out. And if we did make it big enough so the risk was real… well, by the time he realised it wasn’t a bluff, we could be dead of smoke inhalation! Or what if he doesn’t even hear us, what if he’s out cold up there at the bottom of a whiskey bottle? With our family history, setting fires probably isn’t the best way to go.”

Dean winced at the reminder and shot Sam a half hearted glare. Then he hummed thoughtfully. “Think he wouldn’t buy a faked injury, either?” 

“Why would either of us get injured, Dean? It’s a rube’s ruse, he’d never fall for it.” 

“Okay then we don’t fake it,” was Dean’s ingenious response. “I put a bullet in my leg, he’s gonna have to let us out, ‘cause I don’t think I’m gonna come into heat while I’m in a blood loss coma and-” 

“Dean! You can’t shoot yourself in the leg!” Sam sat up straight on the mattress where he’d been sitting, slumped back against the wall.

“Not anywhere vital, obviously; I’m not an idiot!” Dean scoffed. “But it’d do the trick - unless he figured that out, and told me to just man up and tie something around the wound… wouldn’t put it past him…” 

“Dean.” Sam spoke quietly but forcefully, so that the deep reverberations of his alpha voice rolled out from his chest like an animal growl. “You are NOT shooting yourself. That is not an option.”

Dean didn’t so much flinch as draw into himself, tensing as though braced for a blow, or a strong blast of weather. He narrowed his eyes and glared, but Sam couldn’t allow himself to feel guilty. He tried damned hard to keep his temper with Dean (might be one reason why it spilled over so easily with Dad) just so that he wouldn’t accidentally let loose the dominating tones that pushed at an omega to respond, to obey and submit; he wouldn’t do that to his brother, his _older_ brother. The man who, though he could be a colossal jerk, had always loved and cared for him more than their father seemed to at times. At least, most of the time he wouldn’t do it; right now, he found a very pressing exception, if it meant stopping Dean from doing something stupid and possibly even fatal.

Dean, true to his nature, was resisting the instinctive urge to give in and might, if he won the battle of wills, turn the gun on himself just on sheer principle. Sam wasn’t having any of it.

“Dean,” he said again, his voice dark and smoky, and he knew his eyes were flaring red by the blood tinged haze at the edges of his vision. “Give me your gun. You are not to hurt yourself. Give me the gun, Dean; give it to me now.”

Dean’s eyes flashed with hurt betrayal and he bared his teeth in a silent snarl, but Sam’s tone was too urgent and his demand too reasonable for Dean to fight his omega wiring. He drew the gun slowly from his waistband and held it out, his arm trembling with the tension of corded muscles as he battled with himself and lost. 

Once Sam had taken the gun and tucked it out of the way inside his own jacket, Dean seemed to sag like a puppet with its strings cut. Sam bit his lip until it bled and felt his cheeks heat with shame at what he’d just done, but he wasn’t taking it back; he knew Dean, and just what his sense of righteousness might compel him to do for Sam’s sake.

“Wasn’t actually gonna do it anyway,” Dean grumbled, staring across the cellar with his arms folded across his chest, the picture of wounded pride.

“Yeah, okay,” Sam said, projecting sincerity. “I’m sorry. I just don’t want to be trapped down here with you bleeding out on me, okay? This isn’t… I mean, I know it’s bad, I know you don’t want - but it’s not worth dying over, is it?” He chewed on his abused lip, tasting iron and salt and feeling the sting of rejection in the pain.

Dean’s head snapped around so he could stare at him incredulously. 

“Dude, I told you I wouldn’t do anything stupid; did you honestly think I’d do something like that to you?” he snapped. “And what do you mean, ‘I don’t want’? Do you?” He frowned, his face scrunching up in honest confusion. 

There was no trace of disgust there that Sam could see, which encouraged him to be honest. The situation seemed to call for it. He shrugged.

“I mean, no, it’s not like I - of course it’s insane,” he struggled to explain the complexity of his feelings. “I wouldn’t ever have… But it’s not like… I could think of worse things, you know? I mean, I’ve always looked up to you. You’ve been my role model, my idol, my whole life. You’ve always been there for me, and I just - I meant what I said to Dad, okay? I’ve been selfish, I didn’t realise how much you needed me and I want to be there for you Dean, whatever it takes. It wouldn’t bother me, is all I’m saying, but I understand that you couldn’t - and it’s fine, this is up to you. You’re the omega here, so, it’s your call.”

Dean was staring at him now as though Sam had sprouted a second head. Then he wrenched his eyes away and took to pacing again, left and right, left and right between two of the shelving units which boxed in the majority of the floor space.

“You really mean that, don’t you?” he said as he walked, his words coming out as clipped and jerky as his gait. He flung his arms wide, gesticulating. “Jesus, Sammy. Jesus fucking Christ.”

Sam winced, and Dean rubbed a hand across his jaw. Then he stopped pacing and stood in front of Sam, staring at him earnestly.

“Listen, Sam,” he said now, a note of pleading in his tone. “This is so not about-” He took in a short, sharp breath and shook his head as though to clear it. “Up to me, because I’m the omega?” He changed tactics. 

“What about you, Sam? I’m not gonna let you sacrifice your life, lay down your principles and do something which _should_ bother you, it should bother you one hell of a lot, just because I’m a needy bitch who can’t keep from crawling all over the first alpha I see when I’m on heat.” 

Sam frowned when Dean started trash-talking himself, but when he opened his mouth to protest, Dean just ploughed on, insistent.

“I get that it sucks for Dad, but he’s our father, it’s his responsibility, not yours! And I’m just fine, I can get by on the supps no problem, it’s nothing worse than I’ve had after a heavy night at some bar. I’m the problem here, and you’re right, it is up to me to find a solution; and that’s not gonna be taking advantage of my own brother.”

Sam couldn’t let that one go. “You’re not taking advantage,” he started hotly, but Dean overrode him again, waving him to silence. “‘Course I am,” he said in his ‘Sam, you’re being a moron’ tone. “Or I would be, if I let you do what Dad wants. We are _brothers_ Sam, you said it yourself to Dad; it’s insane, it’s wrong, it’s sick.” 

Sam swallowed, he _was_ feeling sick. He’d yelled at Dad, parroting the expected responses because he was so outraged their own father would suggest such a thing. But the truth was, the only thing about the idea that disturbed him was the thought of Dean’s own horror and disgust. He certainly sounded disgusted, and why wouldn’t he be? It was any normal person’s reaction to incest. Sam wasn’t sure what was wrong with him, had learned years ago how to sublimate his twisted feelings for his own brother, but Dad’s plan had forced him to confront the truth about himself and he’d reacted out of a sense of shame and denial rather than to the idea itself. He wanted to explain it to Dean, to convince him that he wouldn’t be abusing his little brother, but he choked up worrying how Dean would react.

Dean had started pacing again, maybe just so he could avoid Sam’s eyes and the sick truth lurking in them. Dean was the grand master of denial, he wouldn’t call Sam out on it if he never admitted it, even if it was obvious.

His voice lowered so it almost seemed he was talking to himself, Dean said, “You - what you should do is, you should get the hell out of here, take yourself to college like you’ve been angling for all this time. Get away from this fucked up family and try to find a normal life for yourself. It is not your job, it is not your mission,” his voice began rising again, “to handle me and my stupid fucking monthlies.” He beat his hands against the shelving rails behind him, a hollow, metallic counterpoint to his increasing stress. 

“I’m over twenty, a trained hunter, I should be strong enough to overcome my own damn hormones, Sam! I’m a human being, not a fucking animal! I know I’m a liability, no use to anyone for three days outta every month, either locked up for my own good or puking into a toilet half the damn day. But I’ve come to terms with that, I can live with the cards I’ve been dealt; but not if it’s gonna drag you down with me. I can’t, I won’t let you do that.”

He stopped, staring at Sam, breathing hard with his lips pinched and nostrils flared, and Sam could smell the desperation rising from him like the reek of old blood. He hated it when Dean talked like this, the casual way he would put himself down, sneering at the way nature made him as though it had gotten anything less than perfect. 

“Stop talking about yourself like that!” he shouted, not in his alpha voice, just the high pitched, cracking tones of a teenager who has had enough. “Dean, there is _nothing_ wrong with you! You have no idea how -” (no, he caught himself, don’t call him ‘beautiful’, that wouldn’t go down well at all!) “how much I admire you, how much I’ve always looked up to you!” The words tumbled out now, in his desperation to stop Dean from feeling like a problem, like a burden, like a failure. 

“I don’t give a shit about your gender,” he went on, “because you’re strong and you’re confident and you… You’re everything I aspire to be, and I’ve followed you around since I was knee high, and… and nothing about you could ever disgust me, _nothing,_ do you hear me? You are not a liability to this family, if anyone is it’s me, because I don’t wanna just jump when Dad tells me to and I want my future to have more options than just being stuck hunting because I never had the chance to learn anything else.”

He paused, moderating his voice and looking up at Dean earnestly under the floppy shock of hair that was always getting in his eyes.

“But I don’t want to leave, Dean, I certainly don’t want to leave you! I’d take you to college with me if I could, if I thought you’d leave Dad. And it’s not an all-or-nothing scenario, you could still hunt with him, it’s not like you’d have to stay glued to my side. We could make it work! If we were bonded, we could make it work, because then you’d want to be with me, not Dad...”

He stopped, horrified, and flung his hand over his mouth, but it was too late. He’d said it now; he’d made his true feelings clear, and now Dean was going to be mad, and disgusted, and if they ended up doing what Dad had locked them in here to do, then that would just make it ten times worse…

But Dean didn’t look angry, or repulsed. He was staring at Sam with an expression that was curiously open, tender and vulnerable and… hopeful?


	3. Tied

“Sam,” Dean breathed, “are you… Are you saying you agree with Dad? That you… You wouldn’t do this just to keep the family together, or to protect me, you’d genuinely… Because you want me?”

“I’ve wanted you ever since I could remember,” Sam dropped it like an offering into the awestruck silence. “I don’t… I don’t have any problem with being your alpha, Dean; my only problem would be if you didn’t want it. And you’re my brother, so I don’t see…”

Dean laughed, a sudden, sharp bark of incredulity. “Sammy,” he said, his voice strangely soft. “Sam… I’d be - of course I want you for my alpha. I just - yeah.” He put his hand up and scratched at the back of his neck, a gesture he always made when awkward with emotions, and it suddenly occurred to Sam that his hand was covering - protecting - the spot where an alpha would bite down to make his mating claim. Where he would sink his own teeth, if they…

“So,” he said hesitantly, “are we actually… are we gonna do what Dad wants, after all?” He did want it, now that he knew Dean wasn’t against it either, but part of him balked on principle, because he hated how their father had manipulated them.

Dean screwed up his face, then shrugged and grinned. “Don’t see as we have much of a choice,” he said, “since he isn’t letting us out of here until we do, and I’ll be going into heat in just a couple of days. Guess we may as well just sit back and wait for the inevitable. Least we can enjoy it, now we know we’re on the same page.”

Sam frowned. “Can we, though?” he asked.

“Come again?” Dean’s head dropped to one side as he regarded Sam quizzically. “Thought we just hashed all that out. You want me, I want you, so where’s the problem?”

“I want…” Sam swallowed, could feel himself blushing. “I do want you, but… I kinda wanted it to be - more aware? I mean,” he hurried on, as Dean’s evident confusion deepened, “when you’re - you know, when the hormones take over, I know it’s kinda… It’s not like either of us _would_ say no, but it’d be nice to have the choice, don’t you think?”

“You mean instead of just going at it like a couple of wild dogs,” Dean observed, wryly.

“Well… yeah,” Sam agreed, “‘cause, you said it yourself; we are human, and I… I mean, I haven’t… I wanted my first time…”

“Aww shit, Sammy,” Dean’s face softened with understanding. “Yeah, I get it. I do. First time trapped in a cellar with us both loopy on hormones, I know that’s not ideal. I wouldn’t have wanted it this way either. But, we’re kinda stuck with it, way things are.” He scratched his neck again.

“Are we, though?” Sam asked, echoing his earlier inspiration. “I mean, do we have to wait for the inevitable? It’s not how heterosexual sex works, and plenty of alphas have sex with betas if they can’t get an om. Dad thought… he just figured we’d have to wait to be able to stomach it, I guess, but if you’re really okay with me..?” He trailed off, feeling self-conscious again.

“Yeah, I’m okay Sammy, I’m more than okay,” Dean hastened to reassure him. “It’d be good, actually. Be like a practice run. Find out how everything works, get comfortable with each other, then when the real deal hits, it’ll just be that much better.”

Sam snorted a laugh. “You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself, Dean,” he said. “Or; I’m sorry, I didn’t think, but is it different for omegas, can you only - when you’re in heat, is that it?”

“Dude, hell no,” Dean looked and sounded genuinely offended. “I’m ready any time, don’t need to crank my shaft, know what I’m saying?”

Sam doubled over laughing. “You sure about that?” he got out between muffled snorts, “Because I know you’re an om but you still have a dick and I’da thought that was one of the best parts.”

And then Dean was laughing with him, which eased the last awkward shreds of tension between them.

“Bitch,” he chuckled and, leaning over, he cuffed Sam lightly upside the head. 

“Hey, you’re the bitch, jerk,” Sam countered without rancour, fending him off. “This what you want, you gonna wrestle me to get in the mood?”

“Oh you are asking for it,” Dean answered, closing in with mischievous intent. “Callin’ me a bitch, now? You forgettin’ who’s the younger brother here? ‘Cause I might be an om but I can kick your skinny ass any day of the week.”

“Oh yeah?” Sam gasped, grappling with the suddenness of Dean, hot, hard and _all over him_ and even though his purpose seemed entirely non-sexual, a flood of desire washed through Sam, so that it was hard to focus on things like coordination and combat technique.

With the result that Dean pinned him to the mattress far too easily, and straddled him, leaning close to grin down over his face with bared teeth. “Aww c’mon Sammy,” he taunted, “making things way too easy for me here. Look, I said I was up for you being my alpha, but I might have to reconsider if you can’t even hold your own in a friendly wrestling match. A man’s gotta have some pride!”

Sam ground his teeth and actually snarled as the jibes infused him with new strength and motivation. “Oh, I can be your alpha,” he gritted out, as he flung his legs up and wrapped them around Dean’s waist. “You try - kicking my ass - when you’re shoving - _your_ ass up in my face - begging for me to - give it to you - when your heat kicks in!” He panted out the sentence in dislocated jerks as they tussled, Sam trying to flip Dean, but he had his knees and elbows lodged in the mattress and his centre of balance was too stable to be moved.

Sam’s efforts did very little other than to grind his crotch up close to Dean’s body, and there was no hiding how hard he was; felt like he’d pop a knot just wrestling, so what would it be like if - when - they actually..? _Oh God no, don’t think about that, too distracting…_

“Mind not on the game here, Sammy?” Dean purred into his ear, and he moved a little, deliberately rubbing himself over Sam’s extremely sensitised crotch. And yep, it felt like Dean was hard too, but the bastard was far too full of himself and in control and it wasn’t fair, _he_ was the omega, he was supposed to submit to _Sam_ and this was _not_ how things had gone in any of Sam’s illicit fantasies growing up, and…

Suddenly, without conscious volition, Sam’s teeth were buried in Dean’s neck, in the meaty muscle just above the joint of his shoulder, and an overwhelming tidal wave of sensation rushed through him along with the rich, salty taste of blood in his mouth.

Growling like an animal, but not letting up his feral grip, Sam surged up and to the side and wrenched Dean over onto the mattress, noting absently that his brother seemed to have gone as loose and floppy as a rag doll, putting up no resistance whatsoever. He covered Dean with his body the way Dean had just been grinding down against him, pushing his crotch hard against Dean’s and feeling blindly along his arms. When he found Dean’s hands, he pinned them to the makeshift bed and thrust even harder, giving his head a little shake to worry at the flesh between his teeth, and Dean made some kind of sound… He _mewled,_ there was no other word for it, and the noise went straight to Sam’s cock like current along a wire; but at the same time he froze, with the flash of higher brain realisation that he was _biting_ his brother, his teeth clamped into him like some kind of mythical vampire.

For several heartbeats, which Sam could feel thumping back and forth between their chests like some jackrabbiting duet of drums, they lay as still as statues and as close as lovers, their breaths harsh in Sam’s ears. Then Dean whined, a needy thread of sound, and rutted up against Sam.

“Don’t… stop… now,” he begged, and Sam, contrary to Dean’s pleading, made a heroic effort to rein in his caveman impulses and tore his mouth from his brother’s bleeding neck.

“Shit, Dean, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean - I - are you okay?” he asked, brushing a thumb tenderly across the bruised and torn skin and peering worriedly under the bangs of his hair into Dean’s eyes.

Dean looked… wrecked, but not in any way that legitimised Sam’s concern. He was flushed, his lips plump and parted and glistening wet, and his eyes sparkled like dew drowned grass, the pupils wide and pulling Sam in like holes in space.

“I’m fine,” he answered throatily, his voice soft and full of something like… wonder, or deep satisfaction, or maybe even love. His wrist shifted insistently in Sam’s grasp, and Sam let it go with another mumbled apology, but Dean’s hand came up instantly to cradle Sam’s cheek and then drift into his hair, smoothing it back so he could look into his eyes. Then he smiled; that broad, white, blazing grin that was like the sun coming out for Sam, because Dean had always been the sun, central to his universe.

“Better than fine, actually,” he went on, and there was some sort of undercurrent to his voice, a deep vibration like a purr, smoky and sultry. Now that Sam was paying attention with the reasoning part of his brain, he was able to match the sound with Dean’s scent, which was wild and rich and tingling and seemed to wrap Sam’s brain in a hazy, sensual fog.

“Be better than that even,” Dean murmured, and the sweep of his lashes as he glanced up at Sam through half closed eyes was mesmerising, “if you could just - c’mere and…”

As he spoke, he pulled gently against the back of Sam’s head, drawing him down towards his face, and those intensely kissable lips; and who was Sam to deny Dean anything he wanted right now, looking and smelling and sounding like all the prom dates he’d missed out on, wrapped up into one ready and willing package?

Sam closed the gap eagerly and actually moaned a little as his mouth met Dean’s, and that wet, firm heat was everything he had fantasised about and more. He tasted like a fairground, smoke and candyfloss and buttered popcorn, and Sam licked into it and pressed their lips together until they were bruised and swollen, but the sting just galvanised his nerves and went straight to his throbbing crotch.

He rutted against Dean’s own hard-on for a couple of minutes, but it wasn’t nearly enough, and Sam was growing impatient, and horny as heck. With a complaining hmph as he was forced to release Dean’s mouth, he dragged his focus downwards, fumbling with his jeans to get them unfastened and shucked down his legs, kicking off his shoes. He stripped off his shirt layers as an afterthought, and Dean followed suit, but only the top half. It took moments that seemed to stretch on for far too long, away from the long, lean lines of Dean’s body hard against him. Then Sam put his hands on Dean’s waistband and paused, staring into his eyes again, the impossible tawney green of them, like a whiskey drowned summer. 

“Can I..?” he whispered, barely breathing, and Dean bucked his hips up and put his hand to the back of Sam’s neck, and breathed back “Yeah,” and Sam needed no more permission. He worried and dragged at his brother’s jeans until he could fling them away across the room, and was going to kiss him again but was distracted by the scent…

Which was so much stronger, down there, now that he was half undressed, and Sam’s brain stuttered and locked down in rapt appreciation so that he was acting purely on instinct when he drew lower and nuzzled his nose right between Dean’s thighs. He breathed in deep lungfuls of the amazing, heady musk that called to his aching cock like a siren and clouded his senses more than cheap beer or a glancing blow to the head. 

Dean released a heavy sigh, the distant echo of a moan, and moved one leg aside fractionally, giving Sam the room to really dive in. He pushed his face up into Dean’s groin, mouthing at the fabric of his boxers, feeling the squashy softness of his balls against his nose. Dean’s underwear was soaking wet and the smell, the taste of it was so good it was almost painful; if Sam didn’t get some friction on his cock soon, to help his knot inflate, he was going to explode. Still, his brain was too lust crazed for him to put together a plan of action; he kept on mouthing and kissing over Dean’s crotch, sucking at his balls and the hard length of his dick through the cloth, nibbling gently with his teeth with just enough presence of mind not to bite too hard.

“Sam; Sammy - fuck!” Dean’s voice strangled on a groan of pleasure and his hands were in Sam’s hair, stroking and tugging. “Dude, please; this is good - so good! - but I want, _need,_ more. You’re killin’ me here, Sammy. Gotta - gotta have you inside me, man. Want you - want your cock.”

Sam thrilled to the sound of his brother, usually so brash and collected, begging brokenly for his - _Sam’s!_ cock, his panting tones unmistakable evidence that he wasn’t just talking dirty for Sam’s benefit; he was being honest, stripped raw and vulnerable and needing. It was a bigger turn-on even than his scent.

Sam let himself be pulled up and away, though never mind his cock, he wanted to burrow his nose in there, and his tongue, and just suck Dean out like a Twinkie; but he was distantly aware that his own genitalia wouldn’t thank him for that, and fucking Dean right now, getting his cock up and _inside_ all that rich, odorous heat would be pretty damn spectacular.

Sam moaned at the thought, and scrabbled futilely at the offending material which clung wetly and refused to be parted from Dean’s skin (and really, Sam couldn’t blame it) until Dean sat up, shushing him softly and pressing kisses to his face and hair, and levered his hips until he could strip off the sodden garment and toss it aside.

Then, Sam surged up and over his brother, intent on only one thing, and Dean’s legs opened wide to receive him, and before he really knew what he was doing, Sam was plunging home, his cock sinking balls deep into tight, slick heat that felt so exquisite he came with a wordless shout.

“Oh… fuck,” he said then, “oh shit no, too soon, fuck, Dean, I’m sorry, I -”

But, “Shh, it’s okay, don’t worry about it,” Dean was soothing him, hands stroking everywhere, cool and calming, quietening the fizzing of Sam’s nerves beneath each bit of skin he touched. “You’re in,” he said, “and you’ll stay for the duration. There’s plenty more where that came from. Just relax, you’ll soon knot up, and you can keep fucking me into the mattress, long and hard as you like.” His hands wandered into Sam’s hair, his petting caresses and gentle tone in counterpoint to the lewdness of his words.

Sam felt his dick twitch and realised that Dean was right, his knot was gamely trying to inflate, late to the party but staunchly determined to be the life and soul once it got there. He tried moving in and out a little, to give it some incentive, but not so much he’d slip free.

“Here, let me,” Dean crooned, back in control again, if he’d ever fully lost it in the first place; but Sam was feeling far too good right now to feel more than a passing shadow of embarrassment at how utterly gone on his brother he was, shooting his load at the first stroke of penetration like a gawky fourteen year old.

He gasped as he felt Dean’s hand reach down and around his ass, sliding his fingers in under his balls, then cupping them, giving them a tiny squeeze and tug. Then he circled a finger and thumb around the base of Sam’s cock, where it disappeared into Dean’s own ass, but let another finger stick out across the underside of Sam’s balls, along his taint, and it was the best feeling Sam had ever had in his life. He groaned and shuddered and started to rock, pushing back into Dean, who lay there strong and steady with his legs wide in an embrace, looking after Sam right now, in this, just as he had all their lives.

Sam could feel his knot expanding, the rush of heat and pressure, and Dean groaned softly as he was filled, and moved his hand up to clamp it over Sam’s ass cheek and hold him tight.

“This okay?” Sam panted, “I’m not hurting you, am I?” and Dean actually laughed, a bright, innocent explosion of sound.

“God yes, I’m fine, I love it,” he said, and his voice was filled with that same tender amazement from before as he gazed up at Sam, his eyes shining with adoration. “I’m an om, remember?” he added, “self-lubricating. Here, feel.”

Dean reached for Sam’s hand, fingers pushing gently under his palm and lifting it from where Sam was leaning into the mattress, and raised it, guiding it down between their bodies and past his straining cock to where Sam’s cock pulsed and swelled inside his brother. Sam felt wetness, warm and slick, dripping over his balls and down the backs of Dean’s thighs, and he rubbed his fingers through it and then brought them up to his face to sniff… That intense, musky aroma that shorted out his brain and made his cock thrust, and he shoved his fingers into his mouth and sucked them greedily, moaning around them, making Dean groan in turn.

“You like that?” Dean asked, low and gravelly, his voice caressing Sam’s dick like teasing fingers. “Like how I taste, baby brother?”

“God, _Dean,_ ” Sam hissed, whipping his fingers free and slamming forwards, fucking hard into him as he mashed their mouths together, tonguing into Dean as though reaming him out. He pulled back to add, “You’re so wet for me, so damn hot…” in wonder, then he reached for more of the slick, this time tracing his glistening fingers over Dean’s lips, coating them in his own juices, before he leaned back down to kiss him again, moaning as the taste and scent overwhelmed him.

Dean responded eagerly, kissing back with a hard, insistent mouth, and then he put his hand between them, gathering up more of his own slick, and rubbed wet, frictionless fingers over Sam’s balls and up, along the crack of his ass and in, one finger nudging at his entrance before sliding inside and pressing…

_“Holy mother...”_ Sam moaned into Dean’s mouth as he arched up and then slammed back, pistoning in and out between the pressure of Dean’s tight heat all around his cock and that delicious spot intensity where Dean’s finger played, circling and teasing at his prostate. It was incredible, it was too much, he was drowning in sensation, every sense overloaded with sex and Dean, omega and ‘mine’. He rutted and swelled, pulsed, and came again, his body going rigid with effort, then dropped, panting against Dean’s lips, to lie flushed and sweating, chest to chest.

He could feel Dean smiling against his skin as he kissed Sam’s face and stroked his back, and he lay there like that for some moments, just revelling in post-orgasmic bliss and the sensation of his still hard cock lodged deep within Dean, held fast by his knot. Suddenly, it occurred to Sam that he had come twice now, and Dean not at all.

He propped himself up on his elbows. “Dean!” he exclaimed, his voice coming out in a wrecked sort of whine. “You haven’t - God, I’m so selfish, why didn’t you say anything?”

“It’s okay,” Dean smiled back, running his fingers through Sam’s hair. “I’m not an alpha, Sam, I don’t recover nearly as fast as you. I was kinda saving it, but I’m not gonna say no, if you’re offering.”

“Yeah,” Sam breathed, “yeah, I’d like… but it’s a bit awkward, while we’re… hang on, just let me…” With a bit of wriggling and adjustment, he managed to get them rolled onto their sides so that he didn’t have to prop himself up on either Dean’s body or the mattress. Then, while fucking lazily into Dean to maintain his own dick’s interest, he grasped his brother’s thick shaft within the curl of his fingers and started working it, the way he had always worked himself while thinking of Dean and trying to pretend he wasn’t.

“Ohhh yeah,” Dean’s groan was long and appreciative, “that’s good, Sammy. Just like that. This is one place that could do with a bit of extra lube though…” And Sam huffed a soft laugh and reached down with his free hand, to gather more of the abundant fluid that Dean’s own body was producing. 

“Nature’s miracle,” he whispered with perfect sincerity, as he rubbed and massaged his slick fingers all over Dean’s cock, then sucked them noisily clean. Dean could only hum throatily in response, his eyes dark and half lidded, staring at Sam with devoted fixation.

By the time Dean was writhing and shuddering in Sam’s grip, coming apart from the dual assault of Sam’s cock as his thrusts gradually picked up speed and the raggedly matched rhythm of his fingers around Dean’s own shaft, Sam was approaching his third orgasm and another, very fulfilling realisation.

“God, Dean,” he gasped, “I’m gonna… again, and I already… Fuck, man, how many loads can you take? I gotta be filling you like a water balloon.”

Dean responded, “I know, I can… feel it, filling me up so deep; want more Sammy, want to feel the pressure of your hot come, pumping into me, nowhere to go past your knot…”

It probably wasn’t strictly true, or wouldn’t be until Sam had come a couple more times at least, but it painted a filthy picture in Sam’s mind and he bucked frantically, spasming into Dean as he shot his load a third time. Distantly he heard Dean keening, “Yeah Sammy, oh God, that’s it, fill me up, fuck me until I burst, wanna cream your beautiful knot…” and then Sam felt wetness spurting over his chest and slicking his knuckles as his hand continued to pump his brother, clasping him tight. They groaned as they ejaculated in tandem, and Sam jackknifed forwards to bury his face in Dean’s neck. Dean hissed and squeezed tight around him as Sam bit down again in the same spot as before, mouthing and sucking at the wound as they clung together and shuddered through the aftershocks of their shared orgasm.

After that, Dean just sort of relaxed and lay back, boneless and content, letting Sam push into him and just smiling with the fondest expression Sam had ever seen. It should have been off-putting, more tender than sexy, but somehow it just fuelled Sam’s drive to possess his brother completely, slamming home again and again until he had powered through two more orgasms and was starting to be overcome with exhaustion. He had just enough energy left to flip them both so that he wouldn’t squash Dean by falling asleep on his chest, then burrowed in, clasping him tight and burying his nose in the curve of his neck. The last thing he felt as oblivion washed over him was his brother’s hand, carding gently through the sweaty locks of his hair.


	4. Resolved

Sam came to feeling hazy, disoriented, and extremely thirsty. His knot had gone down and he had slipped out of Dean at some point while he napped, which sent a crash of disappointment through him, though Dean was still right there beside him, his leg warm and solid against Sam’s side.

Sam struggled to sit up, blinking and working his shoulders, which were aching pleasantly; all the sex had amounted to a substantial work-out routine of push-ups. He was suddenly never more appreciative of the training regimen their father demanded. As he moved, he realised that he was extremely sticky all over, and as well as being parched, the inside of his mouth tasted like roadkill. He grimaced, smacking his lips.

“Welcome back to the world of the living, sunshine,” Dean joked and slapped something smooth and cold against Sam’s chest, startling a vehement protest from him until he looked down and realised it was a bottle of water. He grabbed it gratefully, tore off the cap, and chugged the whole thing down in a series of blessed, gulping swallows before heaving a huge sigh of relief and wiping his lips on his hand.

“Thought you might need hydrating after all that,” Dean remarked with a smile in his voice. “That was a pretty impressive performance, Sammy; first time and everything! Seems I picked a stayer.” He sounded pleased and proud and only a little bit teasing, and Sam blushed and looked down, fiddling with the blanket which Dean must have pulled over him while he slept. Dean was fully dressed now, looking revoltingly chipper for someone who had just had an alpha pound half a dozen orgasms into his ass.

“Not like you actually picked me,” Sam grumbled softly, fingers worrying at the ragged edge of the material over his lap. It was an old Army Surplus blanket, warm and thick but scratchy and a little the worse for wear. Nothing but the best for John’s two boys, Sam thought sardonically, but it would be in an even worse state by the time they were done here; the way things had gone just now, with Dean not even in heat, the whole bed would probably have to be burned. 

“Hey,” Dean bumped him gently with his shoulder. “I didn’t know it was an option, remember? I would totally have picked you if I’d realised… Guess we actually owe Dad, after all.”

Sam snorted. “Maybe, but I’m not thanking him for sticking us down here in an abandoned cellar with - oh shit,” and he groaned softly, “there isn’t even a shower! How’d you clean up?”

Dean made a face. “Whore’s bath with a washcloth,” he explained succinctly. “Least there seems to be plenty of hot water. But I’m not looking forward to more of that, as things progress. That was awesome,” his voice cracked softly on the word, his emotion shining through, “but heat sex gets real crazy and we could really do with a shower. Think Dad’ll let us out early for good behaviour?”

Sam’s gaze zeroed in on Dean’s neck, hidden beneath the collar of his shirt. “I bit you enough times,” he said, still feeling a little guilty about it, though Dean hadn’t complained at all. “Think that’s enough to do it? Do you feel claimed?” He smiled hesitantly. He didn’t feel any differently towards Dean at all, apart from a swooping sensation in his stomach every time he thought about their epic sex marathon, and the fact that when Dean came into heat, it would be even more intense… shit. He swallowed, feeling a little dizzy.

Dean was looking at him, considering him seriously with his head cocked a little to the side, looking impossibly smooth and gorgeous next to Sam’s rumpled and sex-stained nakedness. If anything, he was almost glowing with contentment, and if that didn’t mean a successful claim then Sam didn’t know what would. God knows it couldn’t just be the sex, because Sam knew he had been pretty selfish about that, but he just hadn’t been able to help himself, had been blown away by how Dean smelled and felt around his…

Sam reined in his thoughts with an effort and tried to pay attention, realising that Dean had just said something and he had completely missed it. “Huh?” he said, intelligently.

“I said,” Dean replied with unusual patience, “I don’t know what it’s meant to feel like, but it’s not like wings bursting outta my heart and singing around your head like in a Disney movie, y’know?”

Sam nodded gravely, because he did know, but it still dipped his mood a little. His face must have fallen with it because Dean nudged him again and went on,

“But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel good, Sam. I feel… like I know where I am now, I don’t have to fight anymore.”

Sam glanced at him, puzzled, but Dean was staring off into space now and didn’t notice. “Fight what?” Sam prodded.

Dean’s shoulder rose in a shrug. “You and Dad,” he said matter of factly. “Two alphas, I guess. I’ve always been in the middle, trying to be the peacemaker between you, and truth is… My loyalties have been divided at times, and lately, it’s - it hasn’t been easy.”

He turned his head to look at Sam and smiled softly. “But now, suddenly, it’s like everything’s clicked into place and I don’t even know why I questioned it anymore. I do still want to hunt with Dad, don’t get me wrong, but… I wanna be with you, Sammy. And if you gotta go to college, if that’s really something you wanna do and not just - to get away from Dad, and all the fighting; then I’ll go with you. And Dad can’t say zip about it, because he put us together in the first place, so he made his bed, he can lie in it.”

Sam stared back, his mouth a soft o of surprise as warmth blossomed somewhere deep in his chest, spreading out through his body and chasing away the tension which had been thrumming in his muscles - not just since he had woken, but for a long time; felt like his whole life.

“You - are you sure, Dean?” he asked, struggling to speak through a throat suddenly tight with emotion. “Because I would really; that would be amazing. But I don’t want to drag you away from Dad and - and hunting, looking for the thing that killed mom…” 

“Hey,” Dean answered, still with that soft smile and that open expression that Sam had seen before, but so rarely. It was as though Dean had let down all his guards, and was allowing Sam a privileged peek into the real emotions that lay behind his studied cool and brash quips and devil-may-care attitude. 

“I still want revenge on whatever son of a bitch took Mom from us, at least as much as Dad. But in all the years we’ve been hunting, we never came across so much as a sniff of a clue. That trail is cold, Sam, and I’ve been doing it for different reasons. It’s a worthy cause, helping people, and I’m good at it; and I didn’t want to walk out on Dad, especially not to go off with some random alpha I didn’t know from the next stiff on a case.”

His hand stole up to the back of his neck but seemed to waiver, indecisive; then instead of his habitual gesture, he smoothed his thumb over his shirt, over the spot where Sam must have worried a painful bruise, and his smile grew even softer as he looked directly into Sam’s eyes. 

“But now I’ve got reason to part ways a little. It’s not like I have to stop hunting altogether, right? You said it yourself. You’ll be spending a lot of time studying, no reason I can’t hook up with Dad outside my heats; maybe you can even join us, when vacation rolls around, keep your hand in. We can still be a family, but it’ll be you and me now, alpha and omega. And if Dad wants to stay a part of that, then it’ll be up to him to make the effort. ‘Cause I’m done standing between you two, Sam. I’m standing with you, now I know my future that way is certain.”

Sam was lost for words, but threw his arms around Dean in a tight, fierce hug that probably expressed his feelings better than talking. Dean hugged him back, burying his face in the hair at the back of Sam’s neck, then he laughed and pulled away a little, wrinkling his nose and smirking.

“Yeah, we definitely need a shower,” he said. “But you’ll just have to manage like I did for now. I can whip up something to eat while you get clean, you gotta be hungry?”

As soon as Dean said it, Sam realised that he was, in fact, ravenous. His stomach agreed with a sudden, emphatic rumble.

“Yep, gotta keep my own personal Energiser Bunny topped up,” Dean grinned, and dodged out of the way of Sam’s punch to the arm, laughing as he rolled off the mattress and stood up.

Dean found and fired up the little travel gas stove Dad had left for them while Sam struggled with the tiny washroom facilities. He had to keep refilling the sink but eventually he managed to scrub off all the accumulated stickiness (Dean) and sweat (mostly him, but also Dean) and even managed to rinse his hair with moderate success by sticking his head right into the basin and under the faucet. At least the towels were fluffier than the blanket he had woken up with.

Eating with Dean out of old army style tin dishes reminded Sam a lot of growing up, when Dean had prepared simple foods from cans and packets for them both while Dad was off hunting. Now, he had cooked up some mac n cheese with hot dogs, somehow a comfort food as well as filling and at least moderately tasty. It underlined how they were together, just like in the old days when they had only each other to depend on for much of the time, and once he had taken the edge off his appetite, Sam kept leaning over to sniff appreciatively at his brother. He still couldn’t quite believe that his dreams had come true and Dean was really his. 

Dean’s scent seemed to have taken on a different dimension; not changed, exactly, but it seemed sharper somehow, cleaner and clearer, as though all this time Sam had been affected by a cold but was suddenly smelling him properly for the first time. It was a good smell, suggesting ‘home’ and ‘brother’ and ‘omega’ and ‘mine’, but it wasn’t intoxicating or arousing the way it had been while they had sex.

“Are you sure this has worked?” he asked Dean, anxiously. “I mean the claiming; will it stick? You’re not in heat, and I thought… I mean, I don’t really know. I don’t want to have to stay down here until we’re sure we’re bonded. But Dad isn’t going to let us out if he thinks there’s a chance it won’t take.”

“I’m pretty sure we’re bonded,” Dean answered, “but we can make sure when I do come on. It won’t be long, but I really, really wanna get away from this place first. Dad should be able to tell from my scent, if we can get him to let me out first, and I’ll show him your bite marks. I’ll kiss you in front of him if he needs any more proof. Then all we need to do is make sure all our stuff is in the Impala and drive away.”

“You’re taking the car?” Sam asked, not really surprised but impressed at this audacity.

Dean shrugged. “She’s mine,” he pointed out, “Dad handed me the keys on my twenty first birthday and I was driving her for a while before that. He has his truck; he can’t use two vehicles himself. We need wheels, Sammy, and after this stunt he’s pulled, I’d like to see him try and refuse us anything reasonable. We’re doing exactly what he wanted; if he doesn’t like it, he only has himself to blame.”

They left the washing up, and the stained and rumpled blanket, for Dad to clean up; Sam privately enjoying this new, rebellious side of his brother, who had always been so quick to jump to their father’s orders and way of doing things. Then they went to hammer on the cellar door and call for him.

After maybe ten minutes of exasperated shouting, and Dean’s insistence that “It’s done, Dad, claimed and taken, and we would really appreciate a bigger bathroom,” John came to the door to holler through at them.

“Enough! Boys, it hasn’t even been a full day, and I know Dean’s time wasn’t this close. You’re not fooling me, now just quit with the noise and go wait it out.” He sounded more depressed than irritated, and his voice was thick and slurred with drink.

“We decided not to wait,” Dean called back, “because you were right. We talked it through, and we agreed this is the best solution. Sam claimed me; he claimed me so good I’m surprised you didn’t hear it; and if you just let me out, I’ll show you the bites.”

“So Sam bit you to make it look good,” Dad scoffed. “Doesn’t mean a thing; you think I’ll be convinced by a few teeth marks? Only thing’s going to change my mind about opening this door is time, so you just-”

“Dad!” Dean interrupted, beginning to be truly pissed. “It’s done, and we’re done, we just want out of here now, so we can go find a heat hotel and enjoy the rest of it with a proper bed and a goddamned _shower_. What do we have to do to convince you; get down and dirty right in front of you? Because we will! Or you can take a sniff of the blanket in there, the proof’s all over it. Just let me out; Sam will stay back as hostage; you can scent me, there’s no way his alpha reek ain’t all over me still after that cat bath you’ve forced me to take. I don’t know how else to show it, but we’ll do whatever it takes, because we just really, really wanna leave.”

There was a short, considering silence. Then, “Throw out the blanket then,” John called. “And after that I’ll let you out Dean, but Sam, you’ll have to stay well back; no rushing your old man, you hear me? I don’t wanna have to knock either of you out, that’s not going to help things, but I will if I have to.”

Dean rolled his eyes at Sam and muttered, “Gross, he really is gonna sniff the stinky blanket for proof; not sure I want to go hunting with him anymore after this, guy’s a serious pervert.” But he went to fetch the blanket anyway, knowing they had no choice. Sam went to stand by the far wall, well away from the door.

“Okay, got the blanket!” Dean called, and Sam called too, “And I’m over here against the wall!”

There was a scraping and thumping sound, then the rattle of bolts being drawn and the door grated open a bare couple of inches.

“Feed the edge of the blanket through to me,” John spoke gruffly through the gap. “And don’t try anything, because I’ve got something up against the door to hold it.”

“Your faith in us is overwhelming,” Dean snarked, as he poked the blanket through for their father’s inspection. The door slammed shut again and there was another short, highly charged pause. Then,

“Okay, Dean, you can come on out; but put your hands over your head and move slowly, and kneel down the moment you’re through the door. Sam, you still over there by the wall?”

Sam called out in the affirmative and Dean, with another roll of his eyes, laced his hands on the top of his head and shuffled sideways through the grudging gap his father gave him.

John slammed the door closed from the side as Dean sank to his knees on the concrete, hearing the bolts slide home again.

“We’re not trying to trick you, Dad,” he said softly. “We really did do it, and we just wanna go home now.”

“Would you believe you, if you were me?” his father responded calmly. “I’ve trained you boys well, and I’d be three times the fool if I let you pull the wool over my eyes. I’m sorry, I know this is unpleasant, but if you’re telling me the truth, it’ll all be over in a moment. Now show me your neck.”

Dean glanced to the side, encouraged to see that at least John hadn’t fallen so far as to be training a gun on him. Then, with exaggerated slowness, he undid the top buttons of his shirt and pulled it down and to the side, exposing the rawness of his shoulder, which throbbed with just a slightly sharper and less pleasant intensity than his ass.

“Now hold still,” John rumbled, in his deepest and most commandeering alpha voice, and Dean shivered and did as he was told; but he thrilled silently to realise that if he wanted to move, he could. He had been in thrall to his father’s commands his whole life, though to give him his due, Dad didn’t abuse his alpha status; but now Dean belonged to Sam, and though John’s order still weighed on him as though he’d been bound by physical chains, he felt able to throw them off and disobey him, if he had to. That might be another good piece of proof, right there, but he didn’t want to alarm their father; he wanted him to be reassured by his own senses, which would carry far more instinctual weight than logic and common sense.

John, evidently trusting to the strength of the hold his tone had always previously maintained, leaned down over his eldest son to examine his injury and sniffed, long and deep, at his neck.

Then he straightened and said, his voice shaking a little, “You smell different. You smell like _him,_ and you… it’s different, now. Still omega, but…”

“An omega who’s bonded,” Dean clarified, quietly. “That doesn’t actually need heat sex to work, you know. Just sex. And the bite. And for the om to be willing.”

“And you were willing?” John asked, his tone a strange mix of bewilderment and relief. “You actually… with your brother, without even… It was that easy?”

“Don’t go passing judgement on us now,” Dean snapped, jerking his shirt back into place and turning his head to glare at his father. “You wanted this, you gave us no choice in the matter, so we took the only choice we could. It was gonna happen anyway, but if I had to let my little brother claim me, it wasn’t gonna be in a hormone drugged stupor where neither of us knew what we were doing. That’s pretty much close to rape, you ever think about that?” He packed all his hurt and frustration into his voice, letting Dad hear what he thought of the manipulation, even though he was glad - fiercely proud, and exultant - to be bonded to Sammy now.

John hung his head, and his scent curled up thinly, apologetic and placatory. “I know,” he said, “and I’m sorry. I just - I did what had to be done. I had to keep you boys together.”

“Well, mission accomplished,” Dean said derisively, “so can you let Sam out now?”

“Yeah, of course. I - yes.” John unbolted the door and opened it wide, back to the wall while Dean got to his feet, carefully, and waited. Sam walked out cautiously, his shoulders hunched, not quite bristling but shooting dark, injured looks Dad’s way from under his bangs.

“I’m sorry, son,” John told him quietly. “It had to be done. I hope you’ll come to understand-”

“We get it,” Sam answered, low and forceful, not quite his alpha voice but somewhere close. “We’re bonded now; I claimed him, and he’s mine, and I’m never leaving him.”

John straightened, a flash of something; relief? Regret? Pride? In his eyes, but Sam cut in before he could speak, his voice calm and measured but utterly implacable. “I’m never leaving Dean, but I’m still going to college. He’s coming with me. And we’re giving you a choice, even though you didn’t give us one. You can come and see us, and you two can hunt together, and we _can_ still be a family, even after you’ve done your best to ruin everything. Or you can cling to your stubborn pride and your ‘my way or the highway’ and watch us vanish in your rear mirror, because you can’t use either of us ever again to manipulate the other.”

With that, he held out his hand, and Dean stepped swiftly to his side and slid up against him, letting the arm drape around his shoulders and snaking his own arm around Sam’s back to hug him close. They both looked at John, a twin gaze of accusation and warning, but with the faint promise of forgiveness hanging in their entwined scents.

Then they walked up out of the cellar, out of the abandoned old house and towards the cars, with Dad trailing after them, silent and sorry. They loaded all their gear into the Impala and got in, with Dean wincing only slightly as he sat down; and it was their father who stood, slowly fading in the reddened gleam of the taillights as he watched them drive away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic kicked my ass! I took it on at the same time as the SPN Reverse Bang (which came in at 28K) and the universe seemed to be out to put obstacles in my way: car trouble (thieves hijacked my catalytic converter) and dishwasher trouble (a chip of porcelain in the outlet impeller) besides all the drama of life - father-in-law in hospital with Covid (he's fine now!), death in the neighbourhood, child flipping desks at school, dog having seizures... it's a wonder I got it finished, let alone with any coherent plot. So I'm not looking for pity votes (hah!) but if you liked it, please, _please_ leave a kudos to let me know it was all worth it :) 
> 
> Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! Comments, questions, discussion welcome!


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